


close to you

by cedarmoons



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Desk Sex, F/M, Or... a Deconstruction of Dom Solas, Rough Sex, Sexual Solas, all i write is smut i cant believe this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarmoons/pseuds/cedarmoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has always been a kind and considerate lover, but this time Ellana does not want kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	close to you

She wears loose clothing tonight. A blouse that can easily be lifted up and over her head. Leggings that don’t require laces or toggles to be pulled down over her hips and the curve of her ass. A fire is roaring, but her nipples are tight peaks under her shirt, visible through the fabric. She thinks of crossing her arms, concealing the sight of them, but thinks better of it and fists her hands in the fabric covering her stomach instead.

The door’s opening is a creak, so quiet she might have missed it if she were not listening for it. Its closing is equally soft. Ellana shivers, a pulse between her legs making her clench her thighs together. It only serves to awaken the need that had been sleeping inside her all day.

Solas’s gait is calm, measured, steady. The sun is setting behind the mountains, bathing her room in pink and gold and red. There are candles on places that won’t be easily reached, so there is no risk of knocking them over. She sits perched on the bed, lower lip snagged between her teeth and hands fisted at the hem of her blouse, a pooling heat growing between her legs.

He stops at the top of the stairs, taking a moment to gaze at her. His eyes linger on the curve of her mouth, then drop down to her breasts. One hand is tucked behind his back, the other resting on the railing, but when he sees her hardened nipples the hand on the banister tightens, ever so slightly. He swallows, and looks at her again. “You remember your word?” he asks, low, sinful.

Oh, the things his voice does to her. “Yes,” she says.

“And you still want this?”

Ellana nods. Her hands fist in her shirt. She tilts her head, catches his gaze, and says, “Do you?”

He swallows, glances away. She blinks. “Solas, the last thing I want is you feeling pressured—”

Solas looks at her and shakes his head. “No. No, it is not that. I—no. I have not changed my mind.”

His assurances reassure her, if only a little. There is no hesitation in his tone, at least, and she can read the sincerity in his gaze. She nods, and, standing up, begins their game.

“Go away, Solas,” she dismisses, striding to her desk. She rests her hands on its surface and looks down, pretending to examine a report. “I’m busy right now. Whatever you want—it can wait. Shoo.”

“Inquisitor,” he says, voice still low, still tightly restrained. She hears his soft footfalls across the carpet, fights back a shiver, and moves a stack of papers in an attempt to look busy. Her clit is already throbbing and he hasn’t even touched her. “These reports have required your attention for days. They should be addressed immediately—”

“Well, there are more important matters, Solas,” she snips. He stops just behind her, so close she can feel his body heat not quite against her back. “You’ll just have to wait a little longer.”

He grabs her arms, and spins her, pressing her flush against the desk. Ellana’s mouth drops open, wide, shocked, half-angered eyes flashing up to his. Before she can snap out a retort, Solas presses closer, his iron blue eyes smoldering.

“I tire of waiting,” he retorts, and slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is everything she’s been craving for the past two weeks—harsh and demanding, leaving no room for softness between them. Solas nips at her lower lip until it draws blood, and when she gasps and arches against him, he deepens the kiss. He tastes like the blood he’s drawn and something sweeter. Ellana fists her hands in his tunic when he thrusts a thigh between her legs, breaking the kiss to catch her breath. He’s relentless, hands already tugging at the hem of her shirt, mouth on her throat.

He bites down, hard enough to bruise, and she cries out, more out of surprise than pain. Her hips jerk, riding against his thigh, and her eyes slide shut as he sucks a lovebite on her throat. “You ass,” she grinds out, and she feels his lips curve over the skin of her throat.

He pulls away, fingers digging into the curve of her hips, and she doesn’t protest when he yanks her shirt up over her head. Her nipples tighten in the semi-warmth, and he makes a small noise as he cups her breasts in his hands. His calloused thumbs rasp over the peaks, and she arches into his touch, arching an eyebrow even as her body thrums from anticipation.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she asks. The edge of the desk digs into her spine, but the juxtaposition between the wood and Solas’s body is delicious. Solas pulls back, examining her face for a heartbeat, and then his eyes narrow and he grabs her waist. With one twist of his arms, he flips her over, then presses a hand between her shoulder blades and pushes her down onto the surface. She gasps, writhing against him, choking on a moan when he grinds against her ass. She can feel the hard length of his erection through her leggings, and she digs her fingers into the desk, searching for something to hold on to.

Fuck, she’s so wet.

She snarls, bucking her hips and hiding her smile into the desk when the movement startles a groan out of him. But then Solas’s hot breath is fanning over her ear, and his hands are sliding around her back to cup her breasts from behind. She arches, breaths coming fast and hard. Her heart hammers under her sternum, and she wonders if he can feel it.

His fingers are quick and clever, finding her nipples and tweaking them. Electricity bolts through her, and the pulse between her legs thrums in time with her heartbeat. She whines through her teeth, pushing against him, but he places a hand on her hip to hold her still. His lips brush against her throat, and bite down. The brief flash of pain is soothed by his tongue, and her eyes flutter shut as a whimper slips past her lips.

“So eager already,” he laughs against the shell of her ear. “Are you wet for me, I wonder? Will you beg for me to take you, here, against your desk?”

“Never,” she hisses, but can’t stop her whine when he releases her so he can pull her leggings down. They pool around her ankles, and she shivers at the caress of chilly air on her bare skin. He pushes against her again, and when his hand curves against her thigh, she spreads her legs and tilts back against him, helpless to stop herself from arching into his touch. His other hand is firm on her hip, keeping her pressed against the desk.

He stops, fingers just shy of her cunt. “Beg, Inquisitor,” he says, low, demanding, and a thrill goes through her.

“Fuck you,” she grits out, pushing herself onto her forearms and doing her best to look over her shoulder so she can glare at him.

A pause, almost long enough to worry her. Then, “That is the intent.”

The words are a little awkward, a little stilted, but at least he’s trying.

Still, she can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of her, can’t even stop herself from resting her forehead on the desk as her shoulders shake. She feels Solas’s body tremble, and he presses a smiling kiss between her shoulderblades. “I’ll lose my focus if you continue thus,” he chides, though she can hear the smile in his voice. He runs a hand over her hip, the touch more soothing than anything else. She rubs against him, laughing again when he groans.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, though she’s still grinning. “You’re doing so well, ma vhenan, keep going.”

He clears his throat, resuming their charade. “I believe—” he stops, cursing as she grinds against him once more. Both hands settle on her hips, and she whines at the loss of his hand on her thigh, perilously close to where she’s aching to be touched. His hiss is low and seductive against her ear, and sends shivers to the tips of her toes. “Is that how it will be, then?”

“Do your worst,” she half-snarls, and he responds by wrapping an arm around her waist, the other dipping down to cup her mound. She moans as he parts her folds with two fingers and brushes her clit with a third. Solas tucks his head against the crook of her neck, whispering things too low for her to hear, and his fingers begin to move. A moan spills out of her, a wanton sound that makes heat only half-related to embarrassment prickle through her.

“Oh, gods, yes— _yes_ —” She rolls against him, seeking more contact.

Solas laughs. “Do not say that yet, vhenan,” he says, and another thrill goes through her. What is he planning? His movements across her clit are steady, and maddening—her eyes threaten to slip shut, but she forces herself to push past the pleasure to focus on what he’s doing.

By the time she realizes what he intends, it’s too late. Her eyes go wide, and she can only stutter his name as the electricity glyph activates. He moves away, and she drops her head onto the desk, closing her eyes as gentle vibrations trace across her clit. Soon, she’s a quivering mess, gasping and clawing at the desk. Her thighs are shaking, and her knees are weak.

“Solas—” she pleads, half-breathy and half-desperate. Heat coils between her thighs, tightening her muscles, and she’s so close but the electricity is too gentle for what she needs. “Solas—Solas Solas Solas _please_ Solas—”

Warm hands slide across her trembling thighs, parting her further, and she feels Solas kneel behind her, feels his hot breath ghost across her sex. Ellana tilts her head back, mouth falling open, eyes screwed shut. The noise that comes from her when his tongue parts her folds is _obscene_ , but she is far too gone to care. Solas makes a needy noise underneath her, and he parts her thighs farther for a better angle. He is relentless, tongue caressing every bit of her, tasting every part of her except her clit.

“Please!” she cries, fingers digging into the wood so hard she’s sure she’ll leave marks. He curses, and then his lips are around her clit, tongue flicking relentlessly at her hard nub. It’s the thing she needs to push her over the edge, and she cries his name as she comes, back bowing and legs shaking. When she comes down, her breaths are heavy, and sweat lines her hairline.

The glyph is still active, and Solas shows no signs of letting up. She glances down, only to see his head between her thighs, his hands cupping her hips to keep her upright. She opens her mouth, ready to say something, to taunt him, maybe, but then his tongue licks down her slit and her mind blanks. Soon she’s gasping again, toes curling against the stone, clutching at the desk in hopes it will give her something to ground herself with.

Solas moans against her clit as a single finger enters her, turning and curling against a spot that makes her nerves sing. A few more minutes of his skillful fingers and tongue, and she’s coming apart again, near-sobbing his name as she clutches at the desk and her muscles release their long-held tension in spasms.

The glyph at last subsides, but so does his presence between her legs. She whimpers as he withdraws, somehow managing to keep herself on her forearms without falling flat on the desk. Solas winds his hands in her hair again, pulling her back until she’s staring at the ceiling, the curve of her neck exposed to his blunt teeth. “We are not finished yet, Inquisitor,” he murmurs, heated, and she shivers, unconsciously spreading her unsteady legs. Most of her weight is bent over the desk; she likely wouldn’t be able to stand even if she wanted to.

He stops, though the head of his cock is pressed against the cleft of her ass. It would only take one small movement, and he’d be inside her. She bites her lip, squirming; a hand on her hip stills her movements, keeps her from moving against him. “You have no smart retorts, Inquisitor?”

“Solas,” she whines. She tries to move, but his hand on her waist tightens, almost to the point of bruising. “Please, Solas, please—”

“Please what?”

Ellana licks her lips. “Please. Solas, please, I need you inside me. _Please_.”

“You are so beautiful when you beg, Inquisitor,” Solas murmurs, hot and harsh against the sensitive point of her ear. Ellana swallows and closes her eyes, her empty cunt clenching at the gravel in his voice.

One hand winds into her hair and _pulls_ , sharp enough to straddle the line of pain; she gasps, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as her head is jerked back, baring her throat. Solas growls something in Elvish, then bends her over the desk and parts her legs, sheathing himself in one thrust. The stretch of him inside her is different from this angle—thicker, stranger, but no less welcome. His teeth close over the juncture of her neck, and the fingers gripping her hips dig into her skin.

Every thrust of his hips snaps her forward, driving her into the desk, and when he bites down she can’t stop her hiccupping cry. She wants to move, to roll against him, to give as much as she takes, but between the desk and his hold on her, she is immobile, unable to do anything but _feel_ as he fucks her.

“S-Solas,” she says, gasping as his cock brushes against a sweet spot inside of her. His hand is still tangled in her hair, but loosely, allowing her to rest her forehead on her forearms, revelling in the sensation of him. Solas lowers himself as well, pressing his chest to her back, freeing her hip so he can drape his forearm beside hers.

His lips press against her shoulder, and she turns her head, her breaths coming quicker—inexplicably, she rising _again._ She has never been one for complete satisfaction when it comes to sex, but it had only taken one night of careful, thorough exploration between them and now Solas knows her body as intimately as she does herself.

“Solas, I—fuck, oh, gods, _fuck_ —Solas—I’m so close—d-don’t stop—”

He exhales heavily, and angles her hips up with both hands. She cries out when he bucks into her, a sharp snap of his hips that make sparks dance up her spine. He keeps the new, deeper angle, back still against her chest, mouthing at her pulse as he takes her relentlessly. Her eyes flutter closed and heat in her cunt locks her muscles tight. More staccatoed thrusts send her over the edge, gasping his name as she comes, bliss flooding through her.

Solas sheathes himself fully within her, and stiffens, groaning her name as he spills into her. His hands on her hips tighten, and she knows without a doubt that there will be marks. _Good_ , she thinks, loose-limbed and half-delirious from pleasure.

They take a few moments to catch their breath, and then Solas presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Vhenan,” he sighs, pulling free of her and brushing his lips up the line of lovebites connecting her neck and shoulder. Ellana pushes herself up, wincing at the aching protest from her muscles, and turns around, meeting his gaze. Solas frames her face with his hands and kisses her, gentle and soft.

She guides him to the bed, straddles him once he’s situated and comfortable among the pillows. “You were wonderful, ma sa’lath,” she praises, smiling as she peppers his face with kisses. She pulls away, cupping his cheek with her marked hand, kissing a thin eyelid when his eyes close. “Just what I wanted. Thank you.”

Solas’s only response is to turn his head and kiss her palm. “Can I get you anything?” she asks. “Water? Want me to draw a bath?”

“No. Thank you.” He’s exhausted, she can tell in the absentminded way his hands drift across her bare back. He sits back among the pillows, eyes heavy, half-lidded, and she dips down to brush a kiss across the corner of his mouth. He loves it when she touches him after sex, and so she hums as she kisses down his jaw, placing her hands on his ribs and fanning her fingers over his skin.

“Want a massage?” she murmurs, nosing at a sensitive spot under his chin. Solas trembles as her hands drift to rest over his pectorals, and his arms wrap around her more fully, drawing her close.

“If you are offering…” he returns, quietly, with the faintest hint of a smile. She grins at him, giving him a peck on the lips, too quick for him to catch her before she pulls away. She climbs off of him to go to her desk, and he rolls onto his stomach, sighing into the pillows. When she returns, she has a bottle of lotion in her hand. She hums as she works out the kinks in his back, starting at the top of his spine and working her way down.

“So what did you think?” she asks. “Would you do that again?”

Solas sighs, then turns his head to the side and rests his cheek on his forearms. It gives her a lovely view of the dusting of freckles across his cheek. The corners of his eyes are tight, and his lips are pressed together. She dips down, pressing a kiss to the nearest place she can reach—the curve of muscles over his shoulder. “It’s fine if you don’t want to,” she says.

“My curiosity is sated,” he settles, at last. He lifts an arm, and she clasps his hand tightly before letting go and returning to the massage. He groans into the pillows as she rubs out a particularly tight knot in his spine until it relaxes under her touch. “Ir abelas, vhenan. I do not think I could do that a second time.”

She smiles, kisses his freckles again to let him know she isn’t angry. “That’s fine, Solas. Really.”

He waits until she finishes her massage, then turns over. She settles across from him. His gaze lingers on the seed sticky between her thighs, then travels up her body to rest on the bruises on her hips and throat. His face falls, some strange melancholy darkening his eyes, and she catches his chin with two fingers. “Hey. None of that.”

He half-smiles, and she kisses him. When they part, he holds her close, burying his face against her hair. “May I heal them?”

“They don’t hurt,” she says, relaxing against him as he combs his fingers through her hair. It does not seem to reassure him, so she nods, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. “You can do the lovebites. I don’t have anything with a collar that’ll hide them, and I don’t want to deal with Dorian in the morning.”

His laugh is low and rasping. Then his fingers are brushing her neck, and warm healing magic is flowing from his fingers and seeping into her skin, healing the bruises. When it is done, she nestles into his side, taking comfort in his warmth. He extinguishes the candles with a gesture and pulls a cover over them both, protecting them from the chill of the room.

Ellana turns onto her side, weaving the fingers of their right hands together and curling his arm over her waist. She squeezes his hand. “Thank you, Solas,” she replies. “For trying this with me.”

He responds by brushing a kiss to the top of her head. His hand tightens in hers, imperceptibly. “There’s little I would not do for you,” he replies, and she laughs. The sound of it shakes some of the exhaustion from her limbs. But once her smile subsides, tiredness returns, its tendrils creeping into her body and weighing her down.

“Ma vhenan,” she whispers, closing her eyes.

Solas’s arm tightens around her, and as she sinks into the softness the bed offers, she feels his fingertips trace patterns across her stomach. She tries to figure it out, but her body is wrung out from the pleasure he’d teased from her all night. Just before she slips into the Fade, she realizes what he is writing over her skin:

_Ar lath ma._


End file.
